The 73rd Hunger Games
by FluteMonster101
Summary: Follow Melanie Vine as she is selected to fight as tribute for her district in the games before Katniss and Peeta's!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: THIS IS NOT A SYOT. I REPEAT**, **NOT A SYOT! This is simply a plausible prequel to the Hunger Games Series! **

**I do not own Suzanne Collin's characters, but I do own all of mine!**

**Please read and review!**!

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_The 73 Hunger Games_

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_"Just close your eyes,_

_you'll be alright,_

_come morning light,_

_you and I'll be safe and sound."_

-Taylor Swift

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The sound of the door shutting wakes me from my dreams. I can faintly hear the distinct sound of my little sister's soft cries. From what I can distinguish, she's too afraid to go back to sleep once more.

I don't blame her. The reaping never does get easier as the years go by.

I toss back the threadbare sheets away from my body as I pad softly over to the door. My twin sister, Rosalie, rolls over in her sleep with a gentle sigh, her face peaceful in a patch of waxing moonlight.

It's simple enough, even for clumsy old me to stop the door from creaking as it slowly opens under my hands' light pressure. My tread is nearly silent as I drift slowly down the hall.

I slowly peek my head into my Mother's tiny bedroom and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. As I blink a few times, I can see the dim outline of Lillian as she curls herself into my Mother's sleeping silhouette. My watchful eyes drift to my Father, his back moving up and down gently as he breathes.

A gurgle from behind me makes me spin around, but I relax when Jamie's wide brown eyes meet mine. I can't help the wide smile as it breaks across my face. His tiny baby face lights up when he recognizes me, his chubby little arms reaching out.

I carefully scoop up my little brother, cooing lovingly at him as he throws his tiny arms around my neck. Shushing him gently, I support his tiny body as I walk out of the room, shutting the door silently behind me.

Glancing around, I carry him to the front door, shutting it behind me as I stand under the roof. As soon as we are out of earshot, I poke his belly gently.

"Hey little guy," he squeals with delight as I tickle him all over his 8-month old body. "How are you this morning?"

He responds to my question by grabbing my long brown curls in his fat fist. I carefully pry them from his fingers before he can put his mouth on them.

"No, no," I admonish him playfully as he peers up at me mournfully. "Don't cry."

He sniffs sadly as I rock him slowly in my arms. As a small tear slips down his face, I brush it away with my thumb.

"Shh," I murmur, pressing his head to my forehead. "It's okay."

As I stand by the front door rocking my brother, a sudden light breaks over the horizon in front of me. I turn Jamie's head away from it as his eyes flutter shut, shading my eyes as dawn breaks.

The rainbow of colors that surrounds me is breathtaking. Here in District Nine, we don't usually see such natural beauty. Our mornings are committed to tending the fields of grain, our afternoons to processing it. As soon as a child can walk, they are expected to help out, no matter how small the task.

I, myself, was a mere two years old when I was first sent out into the fields to bring a meager supply of water to each person. To my dismay, Rosalie was ordered to help sort grain in the factory. We had never been separated before, and it was very hard to do our work at first without our twin at our side.

Lillian was four years old when she was forced to do my old job of tending to our field workers' thirst. Me and Rosalie had done our best to keep her from having to work, even taking on extra jobs to satisfy the peacekeepers. Still, as she got older, it got harder to keep her out of work, and even harder to watch her struggle to carry the heavy tin can of stagnant water.

But that isn't the worst thing. From what I've heard, our district has it pretty easy compared to some districts, like Twelve and Eleven. The former mines our coal, and the latter harvests most of our food, besides grain of course. Our district just harvests and processes this thing called 'Tessera', which is basically a small supply of grain that anybody between the age of twelve and eighteen can get. For a terrible price, of course.

Our country, Panem, has this place called the capitol. Long ago, the thirteen districts rebelled against them, tired of living in poverty and death. However, the Capitol proved too strong, even destroying district Thirteen completely. If you stand on top of a house's roof, and it's a clear day, you can just make out the ruins of the old district.

After Thirteen was destroyed, the rest of the country surrendered. But, as punishment for rebelling, the Capitol created this thing called 'The Hunger Games'.

The Hunger games is an annual televised event where twenty four children between the ages of twelve and eighteen, a boy and girl from each district, have to fight to the death until a lone victor stands. Then, that district will have riches thrown at them for one year, until next year's games.

The Capitol is so inhuman and disgusting that the actually enjoy watching this, even going so far and so bet against who will die first. Some even sponsor tributes, which is basically donating money to help them get weapons, food, or water.

The system that they use to choose tributes is volatile. Each year, from age twelve, a child gets more slips with their name on it entered into a drawing, the reasoning being that older children have a greater chance of being sent into the games.

But back to Tessera. For the price of another slip being added onto the reaping pot, you can get a meager supply of grain and oil for one person. But that's the catch. Most kids have to get more than one per year, depending on how poor and how large their family is.

Luckily, I have never had to take Tessera. Neither has anybody else in my family, but everybody's greatest fear is that their children, siblings, friends, or other family will be chosen.

This year is the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. At 17 years old, Rosalie and I have had to go to 5 previous readings, today being our 6th. Little Lillian has had to go to only one so far, but today will be her second.

And the fear only increases as you get older.

I tear my eyes away from the sunrise, quietly sliding inside the house. I continue to rock Jamie until he is safe on his cot once more. Kissing his forehead, I back out of the room to wake Rosalie.

I push open the door to our shared bedroom, being less quiet than before, as I need to wake her anyways. Gliding over to her, I gently shake her shoulders.

"Rosie," I murmur, glancing down as she stirs. "We have to get ready for the reaping." Her eyes fly open in fear as soon as the word 'reaping' leaves my lips.

When she sees me next to her, she relaxes slightly. It's all part of this amazing bond that twins have with each other. Somehow, we always know what the other is feeling, and how to help them.

"Our second to last one," she whispers, a trace of fear and longing in her voice. I know how hard it is for people to live through their own reapings without being chosen, but the larger your family, the longer it takes for you to be able to breath knowing that they are all safe. Not just you.

If Rosie or Lily was chosen, I'd be devastated. Out of the two of us, I am definitely tougher and stronger than Rosalie, who has always been fragile and shy. Lily, is sweet and innocent, and I'm not even sure if she completely understands the true meaning of the Hunger Games.

But perhaps this is a blessing.

Because, I know that if my baby sister was chosen, I would not hesitate to volunteer for her.

"Hooray," I say dryly, waving my hands sarcastically in the air. "Let's go out afterwards to celebrate!"

Her face immediately clouds with doubt. "If we both are here." While I may have been thinking along the same lines as my sister, it doesn't mean that I want to admit it. Being the oldest, even by seconds, I always felt a need to be the stronger one.

I swallow painfully. "Don't talk like that. We'll be fine." When she still looks nervous, I hug her fiercely.

"Okay." She whispers, pulling away to smile at me softly. "Do you want to bathe first, or should I?"

"You went first yesterday," I say, darting towards the tub that stands in the corner of our room. "My turn!"

Rosalie rolls her eyes, getting up to hold a towel around the area, shielding me from anybody who might look into our room. It happened to my father and her once, and let's just say that it was too awkward for them to be in the same room together for months afterwards.

I try not to shiver as I slide slowly into the freezing cold bath water. I know that I should be used to it by now, but cold water never helps your nerves on Reaping Day. Closing my eyes, I lift up the handmade soap that my mother placed here for me, scrubbing the dirt and grime from my hair and body. I duck under the cold water, shaking my long brown hair to rinse out the last of the soap.

I stand up in the tub, flipping my curls back over my back as I grab the towel Rosalie thrusts at me. Toweling it dry, I wrap it around myself to cover my modesty as I emerge into the room.

"All yours," I sweep my hand gallantly toward the tub, hiding a laugh as Rosalie mock-glares at me. "Need me to hold up the towel for you?"

"Nah, go get dressed," she says, ducking her head into the water. I turn away, dropping the towel and walking towards the clothes that my mother must have laid out for me last night.

I gasp softly as I see the twin soft, multicolored fabrics lying without any creases on the worn-down dresser than Rosalie and I share. Running my fingers gently over the one on my side, I can almost see a pattern of grain dancing in the wind.

When I think of how much this must have cost, my throat closes up.

I slowly slide it over my head, and it rests perfectly on my tiny body. Even though I've never had to worry about starving, we never really have a surplus of food to go around. As it is, far too many of my ribs are showing for my liking.

I hear a sharp intake of air behind me, and spin around to see Rosalie gaping, open-mouthed at me in the dress.

"That's beautiful," she breathes, unable to take her eyes off of the dress. "so pretty."

I smile, scooping up hers and tossing it to her. "You have one too." She catches the dress with an ease that I never could quite manage myself.

"Thanks," she smiles at me as she drops her towel from her waist. I leave the room to give her some privacy, and to go wake the others.

To my surprise, however, mother and father were already up, she tending breakfast in the kitchen, and he putting on his worn pair of boots.

Mother smiles up at me, but there was a tightness in her lips that told me how worried she was today. "Hello, Melanie. You look beautiful."

I smile at her as I go to kiss her cheek. "Good morning, mother. Thank you for the dress, I love it."

Father walks slowly over to us, wrapping me in a quick hug before winking at me. "We wanted to make sure you two looked as pretty as you are today."

His words make my eyes water. "Oh, Daddy." I kiss his cheek, sharing a smile with him as Rosalie walks in behind me.

"Hello, mother, father," she quickly greets them in the same way I did. "I love the dress."

Before they can respond, a pattering of little feet echos in the house.

"Good morning," Lillian whispers, her eyes lined with red, and dark purple spots under her eyes.

I force myself to maintain a cheerful disposition. "Hey, Lily-Bear!" I ruffle her hair as I use her least favorite pet name in an effort to cheer her up.

It works. She tries to fight it, but a small smile breaks across her face as she counters with one of mine. "Hey Melon!"

Mother suddenly straightens up, her eyes flitting to the large, worn-down clock that hangs on the wall behind us. With a jolt, I realize that we need to hurry.

"Okay, Lils! Time to eat!" with a nod to my mother, I grab an overripe apple, and lead Lily to the table with it in tow. "You eat this, okay?"

She nods at me, solemn once more as she accepts the rare red treat from me. Rosalie, sensing the tension in the air, comes forward and snags two pieces of bread. I accept my piece when she offers.

Lily has just finished her apple when Mother starts to lead her into her room to change. "Time to get dressed, little flower!"

Too nervous to sit down, Father, Rosie and I stay where we are standing, shifting every so often on our feet.

Finally, Lily arrives back in the kitchen, wearing my old reaping outfit. It consists of a blue flowery blouse, with a pink ruffle, and a black skirt that goes to her knees. She completes the look with her pair of newly shined Mary Janes. Her brown waves are pinned up off of her neck with bobby pins.

Mother bustles up to me and Rosie with more pins in hand. "turn around, I need to do your hair!"

For a moment, all I feel is the tugging and pushing of a bun being made, and then mother claps her hands. "Perfect! Such pretty twin buns."

I glance at Rosie to see what I generally look like. We are identical, except for the fact that I had brown curly hair and she has straight.

Suddenly, the booming ring of the clock tower shakes the district. We all jump, and Lily begins to whimper. As Jamie screams in the next room, mother hurriedly kisses all three of us, tears in her eyes as she runs to tend to him. Father hugs us all, and then follows mother.

"Come on Lily," Rosalie speaks up, taking Lily's right hand in her own. "let's go to the reaping!"

I wince, which thankfully goes unnoticed, at the forced cheerfulness in her voice. But, swallowing the bile that clogs my throat, I grasp her other hand. Together, we head out the door and towards the townsquare like every other child our age.

Finally, The crowd begins to thin out, and I lead my sisters to the girls' entrance. We slowly imuch forward in line, waiting our turns.

I slow down my pace, letting go of Lily's hand as Rosie does the same. Lily stops dead in her tracks as she stares wild-eyed at the Sign-In procedure in front of us. A single lady with purple hair, lips, and eyes puts on a fake smile as she adjusts her hideous pink dress.

"Lily, Lily, Shh!" I push her behind me as the lady tuts impatiently. "you did this last year too!"

The lady scoffs, reaching for my arm. "Finger and name, please."

Biting down the nasty retorts I has ready, I put on my most winning smile. "Melanie Vine," I pretend to gasp. "your clothes are so, gorgeous!"

She does a double take, obviously pleased and suprised. "Such a polite young lady! Good luck!" she winks at me as she pricks my finger. I don't wince, but I do hold my finger as I step to the side.

Rosie doesn't say anything but her name and a quiet, "thank you." as the capital lady smiles and pricks her finger.

Lily takes a deep breath, holdi out her finger shyly as the lady grasps it. "Lillian Vine." she winces sharply as the lady takes her blood.

"Thank you, girls!" Lily manages to smile weakly in return as she clings to her bleeding finger.

I gra her arm gently and lead her to the thirteen year old section, Rosalie right behind me. When Lily realizes it's time for us to leave her, she starts to tremble.

Grasping her shoulders, I squat down to her level. "Lily, it's okay. I love you. I'll see you soon." I kiss her forehead and pull her in for a hug as Rosalie waits her turn.

As I stand up, Rosie kneels next to Lily, hugging her tightly. "Lily, be strong. I love you."

We manage to smile at her as we find our way to our own section. I let my usual mask of polite indifference fall into place as I stand by my twin sister.

"Good luck," I murmur to Rosalie, squeezing her hand gently.

"Same to you," she whispers back, returning the pressure as familliar Capitol music fills the townsquare.

The quiet murmurs of the crowd die down when the escort emerges on stage, a wide grin on his face. He's a pale man with skin that seems to shimmer with every color of the rainbow. This year, his hair is bright lavender, and I have to struggle to hide a shudder of disgust.

I wonder if that's his actual hair.

"Hello, District Nine!" he calls out, nearly bubbling over with sickly sweet joy. "And welcome to the reaping for the 73rd annual Hunger Games!"

He looks ridiculous as he claps fiercely, some peacekeepers politely applauding with him, while the rest of us remain silent. He quickly presses on.

"And now, the yearly video presentation!" at this, I tune out. I've seen the video that explained all about the Hunger Games too many times to count. I'm so spaced out that I start when he continues speaking.

"The time has come to select one brave young man and woman to honor their district in this years Games!" he beams out at all of us, and me and Rosalie mutter his next words under our breath with him.

"And may the odds, be EVER in your favor!" me and Rosie share a grim, amused smile before stiffening.

The escort walks toward the table, where two large bowls, one for girls and one for boys, sit waiting to be used. Turning to smile once more at the cameras, he adds, "Ladies first!"

I hold my breath with the rest of the square as he selects one small slip of paper, and carries it to the microphone with a large smile.

And then, all I can think of is it can't be Lily, not Lily! And it can't be me or Rose; we both have a decent amount of slips in there as well...

When the escort reads the name out, I'm relieved to hear that it isn't Lillian, and it isn't even Rosalie.

And then the shock hits.

It's me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

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_"Everybody's watching, _

_Everybody's waiting ,_

_Even when you're sleeping,_

_Keep your eyes open."_

_-Taylor Swift_

* * *

The silence that fills the square is deafening. It's as if not a single poor, terrified soul dares to move, let alone breathe as the escort's shrill voice resonates over the dusty square. Then, slowly, and almost as if they were following orders, every man, woman and child that knows who I am turns around to share at my frozen figure.

The escort is getting impatient now, hopping from foot to foot on his high-heeled boots, trying to see me.

"Melanie Vine!" he trills once more, a hint of curiosity seeping into his bubbly tone. "Come on up!"

Beside my frozen body, Rosalie lets out a choked squeak of fear, her hand darting out to cling to my arm.

Slowly, almost robotically, I slide my hand out from her desperate grasp. Without looking at her, I slowly step forward, and the watching crowd parts for me as if I was a deadly sickness.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself as fear threatens to take over. I know that all of the cameras are pointed at me right now, and the thought that my fellow tributes would watch this and judge me gives me the strength to lift my head up high. I force a cheerful smile on my face, opening my eyes as I walk closer to the stage.

As I pass by the boys, I make eye contact with Travis, a kind but shy boy from school. I see nothing but despair and love in his eyes as he looks at me.

We weren't a couple, but I had always felt drawn to him, from the first time we met in school. As we grew, that attraction developed into a crush, and finally, love. Often, I would tare at the back of his head for hours in clas, blushing furiously when he caught me.

Sometimes, I even caught him staring at me.

Last year, he had confessed that he was in love with me, making me the happiest girl in the world. It took some time, but I finally gathered enough courage to tell him that I felt the same way. After that, we had shared a few stolen moments of solitude, but nothing romantic. I knew that we both wouldn't feel right with that until our reapings were over and done with.

But I guess that it would never happen now.

I can hear the crowd whispering on either side of me as I force myself to look away. Their whispers filled with sadness, resignation, and relief. Even though the thought of somebody being relieved of my name being drawn makes my stomach churn, I know that I would feel the same way if somebody I didn't know had gotten chosen.

The escort beams at me genuinely as I mount the steps, actually reaching out a multicolored hand to help me up. I smile at him, suprised that this time, I actually mean it. Despite the fact that he basically just delivered my death sentence, I find his childlike demeanor kind and genuine.

My heart aches as I hear Lily's soft agonized screams from the younger kids' section. I force myself to remain still and indifferent, knowing that just seeing her tear-filled eyes will break me. I look above the crowd, too despaired at the possibility of making eye contact with Travis It's torture, but I manage.

"Good, good!" the escort cries into the microphone before dancing towards the boys' reaping pot. "Now, for the boys!"

I clench my teeth to keep from screaming at Travis to run. I know that if he does, he'll be shot down immediately, but the thought of going into the games with the one I love is enough to bring tears to my eyes. They burn in my eyes, though I refused to let them fall.

Not Travis, not Travis, please, not him! I repeat, over and over inside of my frantic mind. Please, anybody but him!

The escort's long, spidery hand dips into the bowl, dancing around in the slips, until finally choosing one. I close my eyes, still silently begging that Travis be spared.

"Travis Handle!" at this, my knees give out, and I drop with a soft cry of despair. I press my fist to my face to keep from howling.

All is lost now. Either we both die and never get to be with eah other, or there's the slight chance that one of us will survive the games, leaving the other to live alone forever. If I die, he would probably kill himself, if I know him well enough, and if he dies, I would do the same.

I look up, and see Travis making his way up towards the stage and myself through blurry eyes. The sight makes my tears flow easier.

"Wait!" Travis is mere inches from me, his arms already outstretched to comfort me, when a cry breaks through the air. "Stop!"

I furiously wipe my face, scanning the crowd for the voice. As I look, a medium-sized, tall, and well-fit boy steps out from the eighteen year old section, his face pale but determined.

"I volunteer! I volunteer to take his place!"

Murmurs erupt from all around us, confused and shocked as they all stare at the boy. As he draws closer to us, I recognize him as Dominick Tendcall.

Him and I weren't really close, but we still were friends. He was closer to Travis than me, having been friends since they were very young. I always teased him because of his light blonde hair and pale complexion, a rare occurance when you worked in the sun everyday.

The fact that he would volunteer makes my heart swell with thanks and sorrow.

Travis turns from me to him, fear flashing across his face. "Domo-"

Dominick cuts him off. "No. I'm not letting both of you go in together."

The two boys stare at each other silently for a moment, a silent conversation going on between them. To my suprise, I find myself on ny feet, but don't dare interfere. A few peacekeepers start to approach us, but stop when they see the murderous expression on my face.

Finally, Travis's shoulders slump in defeat. The whole exchange took less that twenty seconds, but it felt like hours to me. The peacekeepers use this to their advantage, marching forward and forcing him back into the audience. I scream, reaching toward him desperately, but Dominick blocks my view.

"I'm sorry, Melanie," he whispers, pushing me gently back onto the stage. "Trust me."

I don't say anything, and he leads me back to where the escort is jumping up and down ecstatically.

"Oh, my oh my!" he cries, giddy as a schoolgirl. "A volunteer!"

Dominick squeezes my shoulder once before going to stand on the escort's other side. His face is calm and composed, while mine is probably pale and tearful.

The escort takes his silence as an invitation. "And what is your name, young man?"

"Dominick Tendcall," Dominick says, his perfect, calm demenor faltering as his voice cracks slightly. "Age eighteen."

Grinning widely, the escort siezes the microphone. Both Dominick and I wince sharply as it creaks loudly.

"I present to you, the tributes of District Nine, Melanie Vine and Dominick Tendcall!"

When nobody moves to applaud us, the escort looks pointedly at the peacekeepers on his side of the stage. The message gets across pretty easy, and their applause fills the air immediately.

I can see how reluctant the crowd is to do the same, but the always present threat of their family's safety at risk encourages them. Slowly, very slowly, the applause gets louder and louder as the peacekeepers keep at it.

I turn to stare red-eyed out into the audience, and see the same thing wherever my eyes land; pity and resignation. I don't look for my family, as I know that it will be hard enough when we go to say our goodbyes.

As the applause dies out, a quad of peacekeepers bustles onto the stage. I grab Dominick's hand and squeeze it as a pair of them roughly pushes me towards the stairs on my side on the stage. I manage to twist my head and lock eyes for a brief moment with Dominick before one peacekeeper shifts slightly to the left, efficiently blocking my view.

"Where are we going?" I ask the same peacekeeper who moved, forcing my voice to remain pleasant and calm.

"Town Hall," he gruffly replies, placing a hand on my shoulder to make me turn down a side street. Looking forward, I see the front of the Town Hall.

We don't stop as we match inside, only pausing to get our bearings before opening a door on my immediate right. They don't speak again as they push me inside and lock the door behind me.

I press my ear to the door, but it's no use. The door is solid oak, sturdy and strong. I think about how flimsy and creaky our doors are at my house, and my eyes begin to water again.

Fighting tears, I turn and walk over to the window. I reach out and touch the pristine glass of the paneled window. Nobody that I know has such beautiful glass, and I feel trance and out of place in this beautiful room.

Suddenly, the door flies open, making me jump and spin around. In three strides, Travis is across the hroom, me in his arms. I inhale deeply, closing my eyes as his arms tighten around me in a comforting and protective manner. His familliar smell of grain and oil envelopes me, calming the part of me that is close to its breaking point.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in a strangled-sort of voice, muffled by my hair.

I stiffen, pulling back to state at him. "Why?"

He refuses to meet my gaze, staring determinedly at his feet, clad in his scruffy old work boots, shined to get the countless hours of tending the fields they're seen.

"Look at me," I grab his face with my hands gently, pulling it up do that our eyes meet. He stares at me with guilt, regret, and despair swimming in them.

"I'm not going to be there to protect you," he chokes out, his voice hitching up at the end. "I can't save you."

I swallow back the lump that is forming in my throat. "Travis, if you went in there, at least one of us wouldn't have made it."

"You would have," he growls, tightening his arms around my waist. "I'd die in there to protect you."

"No!" I cry, furiously swiping at the sudden gush of water pouring from my eyes. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself!"

"Well, you're coming out, I promise," he vows, turning to gently wipe a stray tear as it slides down my cheek. "I promise."

"What about Dominick?" I moan, clutching his shirt and closing my eyes at the thought of having to kill our friend. "I...I c-can't kill him, I just can't!"

He pulls me tight to his chest. "You won't. But he will protect you."

"But-" Suddenly, the peacekeepers are at the door, hurrying forward to drag Travis away.

I pull him closer to me, crushing my lips to his as tears pour down my face. I feel a dampness on my shoulder, and open my eyes to see him crying profusely as well.

"I love you!" I cry as the peacekeepers drag him away from me. "I'll come back, for you!"

"I love you too!" is all he manages to get out before the door slams behind him.

My legs give out, and I tumble to the floor, loud sobs wracking my body. I wrap my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth on the soft carpet as tears pour down my face.

The door flies open again, and it's my family this time. Rosalie is the first inside, and she flings herself onto me. I can feel her trembling as she hugs me tightly.

Lillian kneels next to me, crying loudly as she reaches her small, fragile arms out to me. I don't hesitate to pull her into a hug with Rosie. I close my eyes, breathing in my sisters' sweet scents.

Mother and father approach me next, and I stand up to meet their embraces. Father's is tight and reassuring, while Mother's is delicate and shaky. My eyes flicker from eac of their faces, memorizing what I can in such short time.

I manage to choke out. "Jamie?"

Mother responds, her lip trembling, "With my friend in the lobby."

Suddenly, she rushes forward, hugging me fiercely. "Oh, Melanie, I love you. Please come home."

I pat her on the back, blinking back tears. "I will, mom. I love you all so much," I look around to the others with a choked sob.

Too soon, again, the peacekeepers arrive to take them out. Father clasps my hand before leading a now sobbing mother outside. Lillian hugs me tightly once more before following.

Rosalie darts to me, pressing something into my palm as she kisses my cheek. "Take this as your token. I love you!"

"I love you too," I sob as the peacekeepers escort her out of the room, and possible out of my life forever.

I look down, opening my fist slowly to see what my sister gave me.

It's a braclet. One that she made herself, by the looks of it. It's a soft, warm brownish leather with small groosling and turkey feathers dangling from it. On them, are multicolored beads that seem to sparkle, even in the dark room. I sniff emotionally as I carefully clasp it on my left wrist, cradling it close to my chest.

The door behind me opens once more, and I hurriedly wipe the years off my face. I turn to see a trio of peacekeepers here to escort me to the train that will take me to the Capitol.

I don't say a word as we meet Dominick outside. He has red rimming his eyes, and I know that saying goodbye to his grandma was hard. Being an orphan, he only loved with his sick grandma, who adored him like nothing else. I feel a pang of guilt when Travis's words echo in my mind about protecting me.

Dominick reaches toward me and holds my hand tightly as we descend the steps towards the train that awaits, shining and pristine on the tracks. He squeezes it, and I turn to look up at him.

He gives me a quick, grim smile. "Cameras, remember?"

I simply nod at him, pasting a fake smile onto my face as I wave at the cameras that flash in our faces. For all I know, this could be our only chance at earning sponsers. And a sponser could be the difference between life and death in the arena.

I let my smile fall as soon as the doors to the train have shut. Why bother when there's nobody here but us?

Looking around, all I see are luxury items. Plush couches and other seating areas, gold tables and chairs, delicate candies and pastries, you name it. Turning to Dominick, I see that he has a similar expression on his face to what I'm feeling right about now.

"Welcome, welcome!" a familliar voice calls from behind us. It's our escort. "Isn't it lovely?"

We manage to nod.

"Well, well, I believe introductions are in order!" he chirps, clapping his hands together ecstatically. "I'm your escort Sangadio!"

"Sang...audio?" I ask, stumbling over the weird pronunciation of his name. "That it?"

He seems excited that I can pronounce his name. "Perfect!"

Dominick finally speaks up. "I dot mean to be rude, but I'm really tired, and I would like to go and lie down, if you don't mind."

Sangadio seems to deflate. "But..."

I interrupt. "Yeah, me too," I fake a loud, obnoxious yawn. "need to be well rested, you know?"

He seems flustered all of a sudden. "Oh, alright. Gotta had you well rested by dinner! Go that way!" he points toward a hallway door.

Without another word Dominick and I turn and walk to the hallway together. I'm looking at the labels on doors when we reach one with the label GIRL TRIBUTE.

I stop, and Domo halts ahead of me, not looking at me. Suddenly nervous, I call. "Thank you." softly to his back. Whe he doesnt move, I quickly open the door and slip inside, locking it behind me.

Finally alone, I slide down the door until I hit the bottom. Here, in solitude, I'm free to cry without anybody seeig my tears.


End file.
